Passing Inspection
by MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Neal isn't that impressed with his father's girlfriend (until something changes his mind?)This takes place immediately after Rumplestiltskin and the others return from Neverland. (For the full Gold Family 'verse story, read this, then The Birthday Brag, then It Must Be Magic)
1. What's So Great about Belle?

_Summary For my 1K follower prompt-a-thon, Leni-ba prompted: Neal isn't that impressed with his father's girlfriend (until something changes his mind?)_

 _A/N: This takes place immediately after Rumplestiltskin and the heroes return from Neverland. Besides the brief moment on the docks, Neal has only ever interacted with Belle as Lacey. From Neal's POV._

Neal crossed his arms over his chest, frowning as his father arranged a bouquet of red chrysanthemums and ferns in a crystal vase. Here he was, the great and powerful Rumplestiltskin—humming to himself as he fiddled with a bunch of flowers.

"Who are those for?" Neal asked, knowing the answer. Jealous rage burned in his gut.

"For Belle, of course."

"Of course," Neal muttered, scuffing the gleaming hardwood with the toe of his shoe.

He supposed he should be grateful to his father's girlfriend for staying behind to protect Storybrooke while everyone else had gone to Neverland to rescue his sorry ass. He should be grateful, but he wasn't.

Mere days ago he learned that he was the father of a ten-year-old boy, Emma had come back into his life, and he was struggling to reconnect with his own papa.

Belle's presence in his father's life added a complication he didn't want or need.

As they'd disembarked from the Jolly Roger this morning, Belle had been waiting for Pop. Neal suppressed a shudder and fought to be as welcoming as possible. At least today she'd been wearing a coat to cover up whatever disastrous ensemble she'd put on that morning. Resigned, Neal had offered Belle French his kindest smile. With his son on one arm and his girlfriend on the other, Pop looked happier than he'd ever seen him.

Still, _what was so great about Belle French, anyway?_

"What?" White-faced, Pop spun around, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "What's so _great_ about her?"

Neal blanched at the crack in his father's voice; he hadn't realized he'd voiced the complaint out loud.

"I thought you liked Belle. I hoped we were going to be a family," Pop whispered, looking dejected.

"She looks like a prostitute," he bit out. Several days prior his father had planted his shoe in Whale's chest and snarled at the doctor for looking at his girl. But that behavior was to be expected of the Dark One. The worst part was watching this Belle woman stand by, enjoying the show in a dress that barely covered her behind. _Family? Didn't Pop understand that this floozy was no good for him? Brought out the worst of his darkness? Hell, Belle French was making his own mother look like a saint._

"She doesn't and she isn't," Pop retorted, his brogue thickened with emotion. "Something happened to her. After losing her memories in an accident, she was cursed by Regina and hasn't been herself. Give her a chance, please."

"Why should I?" he asked. Neal knew he was being stubborn, but he was so damn tired of his father always asking for chances. "And in case you missed it, I'm an adult now. And smart enough to know when my father is making yet another colossal mistake."

"Is this really who my son has become?" Rumplestiltskin snorted. "A man who judges others on the length of their skirts?"

"No thanks to your fantastic parenting skills!" he thundered. "Preaching tolerance from a man who would transform a guy into a snail if he looked at him wrong?"

He waved his hands Rumplestilstiltskin's signature gesture.

"Bae—"

"No!" He jabbed a finger in his father's direction. "Not only does magic mean more to you than I do, now _she_ does too?"

"Stop! Please!"

Neal startled, snapping his eyes in the direction of the cry.

At once Belle was in their midst, standing between them, her small hands outstretched toward his father's chest. Large, earnest blue eyes swung between them beseechingly.

"Rumple, Neal. Please." She worried her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes brimming with tears. "I…the last thing I want is to come between you."

"Belle, sweetheart." His father was trembling, his heart in his eyes. "It was talk you shouldn't have heard."

She shook her head, turning to Pop. "Rumple, I won't allow it. This is your son, your Baelfire. You've been looking for him for centuries. I love you more than anything in this realm and beyond, but nothing is more important than your child." With shaking fingers, Belle shouldered her handbag, turning to go.

"Belle, wait," his father begged. "Please."

"Tomorrow is another day, Rumple," she said, her tone brooking no refusal. "Tonight you stay here. Be with your son."

Neal could tell that the watery smile she plastered on her face was no more than bravado. He faltered, wanting to reach out, but he was at a loss for words. This clearly wasn't the same woman who had laughed and encouraged his father to belittle another man.

Belle left the shop, the only sound her heels clicking on the hardwood, until the door closed with a wistful thud.

As dusk fell over the street, his father's hungry eyes were pinned on the shop window to watch Belle cross the road and disappear inside the library.

"So what is it, Pop?" he probed gently, the pieces of this puzzle beginning to fit together. "What makes Belle special?"

"Besides her unfathomable and unending capacity to love? Or her willingness to do anything to help another, even at great personal cost to herself?" Rumplestiltskin waved in the direction their argument had chased her off to, then crossed the room to sit at his spinning wheel.

"Yeah, besides that," Neal said, smiling softly as his father threaded the bobbin and to fed drafted wool through the leader. From his childhood, his father had enjoyed the soothing whir of the wheel. It had been a great source of comfort to them both in many trying times.

Now his outburst had been the result of Pop's pain, and he regretted it more than he could say.

"Belle always stays," Pop said, his eyes clouded with memories. "Even when everyone else has gone away—my father, my mother, your mother. No matter how many times I've pushed her away or let her go, she never wavers. The closer I am to Belle, the better a man I am."

"I didn't know," Neal said, his mouth dry with remorse.

Pop shrugged. "How could you? You've only just come home, my boy. She loves me, even when I'm at my worst. Belle makes me stronger."

"I'm sorry I misjudged Belle, Pop," he said, feeling sheepish. "If you love her, I know I'm gonna too."

There was an ocean of forgiveness in the small nod of his father's head.

And then Neal knew what he had to do.

"Pop, do you mind if I step out for a minute?" he asked, looking across the street. "I just remembered I have a book to return to the library."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Now." He rubbed the back of his head, anxious to speak to Belle. "I'll be back in just a minute and then maybe we could—all of us—grab dinner at Granny's? I hear the hamburgers and tea are the best in town."

"I would like that, son," Pop said, his voice choked by emotion. "I know Belle would, too."

###


	2. Amends

Summary: After Belle leaves the pawnshop upset, Neal keeps his promise to Rumple to make things right.

A/N: Some of you asked for Neal and Belle's conversation; here it is.

Night was falling fast as Neal shuffled across the street and slipped into the library, easing the door shut behind him with a soft thud.

This was his first time inside the Storybrooke Library and his heart hammered with dread. He clutched the crystal vase filled with flowers that he'd brought from the pawnshop, grateful for something to do with his hands. In general he wasn't a fan of libraries—books reminded him too much of his father's thick magical texts, plaguing him with nightmares of the pain and destruction the Dark One's curse had wrought.

But this library seemed different—imbued with hopeful expectation. It had been closed when he had first arrived in town—shuttered, dusty, and abandoned. This evening it was welcoming, bright, and clean, its leather-bound tomes gleaming like jewels in the warm light. The library didn't boast a large collection, but it was well-cared for, and he sensed that the librarian took pride in the space. _Belle_. Belle French was the librarian. He kept forgetting that important fact.

It didn't seem possible, but then again, Belle French was a completely different person from Lacey—the floozy he'd seen hanging on his father's arm a few days ago. Or was it weeks ago? Time ran differently in Neverland, and he'd not yet become accustomed to keeping time. He had completely lost track of the days in Storybrooke.

The cheerful space was empty and silent, except for the sound of sniffling. He rounded the corner and Belle came into view, her petite profile illuminated by the desk lamp behind her.

Man, she was a pitiful sight. Her slender shoulders were bowed and shaking as though they carried the weight of the world. The defeated stance made her five-foot-one-inch frame appear even more diminutive, if that were possible. She blew her nose, the harsh, discordant sound reminding him of a foghorn, then crumpled the tissue in her small fist. She flung the tissue to the floor and stomped on it with one tall, pointy heel. Chin wobbling, she began transferring hardcover books from the circulation counter onto a library cart at a punishing pace. Belle slammed book after book onto the cart, causing the old wooden shelves to creak and moan with the pressure.

Despite her rough treatment of them now, Neal had the distinct feeling that Belle rarely treated a book with disrespect.

Clearly, she was upset.

Wearing a mutinous expression he'd often seen on Emma's face, she turned toward the front door. He winced, preparing to be lambasted—yeah, he was half-hoping she would hurl insults and begin the conversation for him—but she but didn't notice him standing between the entrance and the reference desk.

Neal raked a hand through his hair. _Crap._ This wasn't going to be easy.

He pivoted toward the exit. If he slithered out now, she would be none the wiser. But as he took that first half-step back toward the street, all he could see were two pairs of eyes: his father's—brown, sad and pleading, and Belle's—blue, wet and wounded.

Neal sighed and turned back around. He'd told Papa he was coming to the library to patch things up with Belle and now he had to follow through. It was his responsibility to make this right.

"Hey Belle," he croaked.

The book she was holding careened to the floor with a thump.

"Oh! Neal! It's…it's you." She rubbed her index fingers over both tear-stained cheeks, leaving smudges of black mascara in their wake, then bent down to pick up the fallen book.

The reminder that he was the cause of her tears made his stomach clench. _You can do this. Just apologize and ask her to dinner with you and Pop. How hard can it be?_

He inched forward to set the vase of flowers on the desk, then took a book from the pile and deposited it gently on the cart's lower shelf. "Uh...I hope I'm not interrupting you."

As soon as the words left his lips he felt stupid. Ten minutes earlier she'd overheard him telling his father that she was a terrible influence on him, an ugly stain on the Dark One's already tarnished soul. Now she was alone in her library, crying and shelving books like a Valkyrie. It wasn't like she was in the middle of a funding meeting.

She stood in silence, clutching a book to her middle, waiting for him to continue.

"I feel bad about what happened." He swallowed thickly. "Pop was right, you should never have heard…those things."

She tilted her head. "That's what you're going with?"

"Um…"

"Because it would have been perfectly reasonable to insult me if I hadn't been present?" Her voice was crisp.

 _Crap._ "No. No that's not it." He shook his head. "What I mean to say is I was wrong about you."

"And what gave you that idea? That you were wrong?" She tossed the book she was holding at the cart and reached for another.

He frowned. "Could you maybe stop throwing books?"

"How about I aim the next one at your head?" She glared at him, holding a particularly large volume over her right shoulder.

"Ok, ok. It's your library." He held up his hands and chuckled nervously. Belle French was fierce. No wonder Papa was enamored with her. He'd only just met the woman, but she seemed to rival his father in stubbornness.

"You were about to explain why you were wrong," Belle prompted.

"Well, now you're…" At a loss, he gestured in the direction of her body, noting her modest blue blouse and pencil skirt.

Her eyes widened in comprehension. "Ah, I see. Because I look different."

He gulped. It wasn't a question.

"Not only that. It's also…"

"I'm not proud of it, you know." She bit down on her lower lip. "The things I said and did while I was…" She trailed off, casting her eyes toward the carpet.

"Lacey?"

She nodded, then glanced questioningly at the vase of cherry red chrysanthemums.

"From Papa," he said, grateful to change the subject. Neal jerked his thumb back across the street to the pawnshop, where his father was probably pacing the floorboards. "He didn't have a chance to give them to you."

"That was sweet of him." Belle's eyes softened when he mentioned his father and her cheeks glowed with pleasure. The look on her face made him squirm and feel glad all at once. Belle loved Pop—that much was obvious.

"Yeah, but the Lacey thing wasn't really your fault. Weren't you, ya know? Cursed by Regina?"

Belle sighed and leaned against the circulation desk at her back, still not quite meeting his gaze. "That's not an excuse for hurting people. Especially Rumple."

He looked at her with new respect. "You take this heroism business pretty seriously, don't you?"

She stiffened. "Why do you think that? Why does everyone think that? No, I take loving your father seriously. He counted on me to help him be a better man." Her voice dropped to a miserable whisper. "I let him down. Abandoned him when he needed me most."

"I don't think you did, actually."

Belle raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. The posture was defensive, but her face hid nothing—it was bathed in longing. She wanted to believe him, to hear someone say that she hadn't hurt his father. Neal stared in amazement. Belle French cared about his opinion? Damn, women were strange creatures.

"He says you loved him when no one else would. That you make him stronger," her heard himself say.

"Rumple…he told you that?"

Her eyes filled with tears again and for a moment he panicked, but they were the happy kind. Learning to read Emma's face had taught him the difference.

"When?" she choked out.

"About fifteen minutes ago." He couldn't stop his grin at her open-mouthed expression.

A watery laugh bubbled up from her throat and she bent her head over the vase of flowers to caress the petals with loving reverence. "He's such a wonderful man. I'm the lucky one, you know."

She looked straight at him then, all the love she felt for his father shining in her eyes. _True love_. Was that what others witnessed when he looked at Emma, at Henry? The passion in those bottomless depths was so powerful that he caught his breath, forced to looked away as though he were intruding on a moment of great intimacy.

And then the truth hit him like a ton of books: Belle and Papa's love wasn't about _him_. The woman standing before him wasn't a replacement or a substitute for a long-lost son. No, the answer was simpler, yet more profound—Pop needed Belle and she needed him.

He mulled over his thoughts in silence as tears slipped down Belle's cheeks.

After a moment, Neal cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he plucked a tissue from the box on the table and handed it to her. It was the sort of thing Papa knew to do without thinking. Despite his outward appearance of coldness, Pop was always comforting the people he cared about. "I'm sorry Belle. For everything. And I'd like to get to know you. The real you."

"Why?" she asked, dabbing at her eyes.

"You're important to Papa." He reached out and gave her shoulder a clumsy pat. "He loves you. And that makes you important to me too."

"So what do you suggest?" She pressed her lips together and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

"Burgers at Granny's? I haven't had one yet, but reliable sources tell me they're the best in town. Whaddaya think? We can pick Pop up on the way."

She smiled, the first genuine, happy smile he had seen cross her face since he'd met Belle French—the real one—on the docks that morning. "I'll get my coat."

###


	3. The Belle Effect

Summary: Neal gets to know Belle and is reacquainted with his father at an awkward floof family dinner.

A/N: It was a fun challenge to write this story entirely from Neal's viewpoint. Thanks to everyone who read and asked for more! I hope you like the silly floof family dinner. As always, there's a hopeful and happy ending. Enjoy, friends!

Neal swung open the diner door and ushered Belle into the restaurant. Papa followed, then stopped in the doorway, a broad smile creasing his face. "I really appreciate you giving Belle a chance, son."

"I'm looking forward to knowing her better," he said honestly.

As they entered the diner, the welcoming aromas of sizzling beef, apple pie, and a hint of fresh paint tickled his nostrils. The diner had been spruced up since he'd fallen through the portal into Neverland. After years of living in New York City, Neal had eaten more than his share of excellent meals. There weren't many restaurant options in Storybrooke, but Granny's Diner was solid and adjacent to the inn where he was living until he could make more permanent arrangements. His thoughts flickered to Emma and Henry—maybe they could get a place together.

He caught Belle's eye and managed a tentative smile. _One thing at a time, Neal._

A waitress with curly red hair pointed toward a table, and the three of them moved to a booth in the middle of the restaurant. They stood in an awkward cluster, all sneaking glances at one another before focusing on the shiny red banquettes in the remodeled diner.

His father wriggled his fingers, a nervous twitch Neal remembered from childhood.

Someone had to make the first move. Neal coughed and slid into one side of the booth, scooting to the middle of the bench. "Why don't you two sit next to each other?"

Pop nodded, then removed Belle's coat and hung it on the hook beside the booth. She smiled and picked an imaginary piece of lint off his lapel, her eyes shining in an unguarded moment. Together, Papa and Belle eased into the opposite end of the booth, sitting close enough that they touched all the way from shoulder to hip.

He smirked—this was like chaperoning a couple of teenagers on a first date.

They couldn't keep their hands off each other. Papa wrapped his arm around Belle's shoulder and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. His father reddened, a lopsided grin tattooed across his face. _Dark One indeed_ , Neal thought wryly.

For the hundredth time since disembarking from the Jolly Roger, he marveled about how content and calm Papa was around Belle. It was a transformation Papa said he wouldn't understand until he spent some time with Belle himself. Good—that was the point of this dinner—to get to know the woman his father loved.

"Tell me about yourself, Neal," Belle prompted as they surveyed their menus. "What are your interests?"

He fell into easy chatter with Belle, discussing everything from soccer to cars to card games. No, he wasn't much of a reader, he confessed to the town librarian, unless it was _Sports Illustrated_ or auto magazines.

His father didn't say much, just looked back and forth between the two of them, grinning like a game show host. After their heated exchange in the shop earlier today, his father seemed relieved that he and Belle were talking. Rumplestiltskin leaned back against the booth and listened.

"Rumple loves soccer," Belle said, turning to pat his shoulder. "It's about the only television he'll watch. But sometimes he humors me and sits through a movie."

Fascinated, Neal stared at his father. Papa watching any television at all was difficult to fathom.

A bespectacled woman with a messy graying bun approached the table, order pad in hand. She spared him a curious glance, then rolled her eyes at the sight of Belle and Papa rubbing their noses together.

"Oh Lord. It's just dinner, right? Tell me you two aren't renting a room here tonight," she begged. "The last time you stayed at the inn, all my guests complained about the noise. I had to issue refunds!"

"And you were handsomely compensated for a minor inconvenience," Rumplestiltskin snapped at the woman over Belle's gasp, his teeth clenched. "Perhaps my family and I could order now?"

"Family?" The woman flung the order pad on the table and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. "Isn't a ring customary before you get to call her that?" She jerked her chin. "Not that I'm advocating marriage to that one _._ The gods alone know what she sees in him…"

"Granny!" Belle pressed her lips together and swept an apologetic look in his direction. "Stop. Please. This is Rumple's son, Neal."

He couldn't help but grin at the older woman's flabbergasted expression as he extended his hand. "Neal Cassidy. Pleasure to meet you. I'm new in town. Got sidetracked in Neverland and still makin' the rounds."

She pumped his hand firmly with a warm, dry palm, her plump cheeks twin spots of red. "Everyone around here calls me Granny. You may as well do the same. Where are you staying?"

"Here at the inn." He gestured beyond the restrooms where the rooms were.

"That a fact? How is it we've never met?" She peered at him sharply, a hint of accusation in her steely gaze.

"Bad luck?" He offered his most charming smile. "A tall brunette named Ruby checked me in a while back." Tamara had been the one to arrange for the room, actually. His former fiancée. She'd been just another pawn in Pan's game and now she was gone. _Don't think about it._

Granny huffed a laugh, bringing him back to himself. "Figures. Well, Neal Cassidy, son of Rumplestiltskin, what'll it be?"

The rest of the ordering process was straightforward, and Neal hid a smile as Granny shot a glare at Papa and stalked back to the kitchen muttering under her breath about needing to keep a crossbow at the cash register.

In minutes she was back and thumping three piping hot hamburger specials on the table. Neal inhaled appreciatively and took a huge bite. Hamburgers were one of life's simple pleasures, and though he'd consumed countless beef patties ranging from terrible to fantastic, these were uncommonly good. It was clear why his father tolerated Granny's ribbing. The food here was cheap, hot, and awesome. Papa had never been fond of cooking, and magic—while expedient—produced bland meals.

Belle twirled a French fry through ketchup and nibbled it, her brow furrowed in concentration. The next thing Neal knew, a small, freakishly flexible stocking-clad foot was caressing his calf and working its way upward.

He choked on his pickle as her toes grazed his knee. "Wrong direction, Belle."

"Oh!" Belle dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, blushing furiously. "I-I'm so sorry."

"No problem," Neal muttered, focusing on his meal to keep images of his father and Belle from flooding his mind. Granny's food was far too good to ruin with thoughts of what his father and Belle… _STOP!_ He dove back into his burger, ignoring the strained looks passing between his dining companions.

"Next time we'll have to have dinner at the house," Pop announced, squirting ketchup onto his plate.

"Yes!" Belle pounced on the invitation with enthusiasm. "Your dad is quite a cook, you know. He roasted prime rib the other night. There was enough for half the town, but it was absolutely amazing."

"Really?" Once again he was astounded by the changes in his father. Buying flowers, playing footsie in public, and walking around with a foolish grin on his face. He added cooking elaborate dinners to the list of things he didn't know his father was capable of.

Papa was a light eater, but love of large quantities of good food was common ground for him and Belle. For a tiny little woman, she sure could put a massive burger away. She'd eaten all her fries and half of Papa's. His respect for Belle shot up a notch—women who weren't afraid to eat were cool.

"Hi Dad," a small voice piped up. It was Henry. Emma stood behind their son, her hands resting on his small shoulders.

"Hey, buddy. You hungry?" Neal sent Emma a pleading look. Belle was the type of person who put everyone at ease and he was surprised to find he was enjoying their dinner, but Pop and Belle were so in sync that he felt like a third wheel. They acted more like a married couple approaching their golden anniversary than two people who had only been dating for a few months. Having Henry at the table might ease some of the tension.

"Sure, he ate a huge wedge of Regina's lasagna about an hour ago, but he's bottomless pit. A second dinner won't hurt." Emma hugged Henry. "Kid, I'm gonna meet your mom for coffee, ok? Have fun with your dad, Belle, and Grandpa."

"Ok." Emma left and Henry bounded into the booth, his face wreathed in a smile.

"Henry!" Belle greeted, "I was just about to order an ice cream sundae. You want one?"

"Extra hot fudge?" Henry asked brightly. His unbridled enthusiasm made everyone laugh. Neal ruffled his son's thick crop of hair, the way Papa had always done when he'd been a boy.

Dessert arrived and Henry and he tackled a massive chocolate chip cookie sundae smothered in hot fudge. The next time he looked up, Belle was kissing whipped cream off his father's nose.

He started to clear his throat, then thought better of it. Belle had been left behind while they were in Neverland and she and Pop were clearly missing each other. He turned to Henry. "How about we give them some privacy and check out that jukebox?" he suggested, pulling a jumble of quarters out of his jeans.

"Grandpa and Belle kiss a lot," Henry observed while they scanned the song choices.

"They sure do," he agreed with a chuckle.

"It's ok though 'cause they're Beauty and the Beast," Henry confided with a knowing smile. "It's true love, you know."

"Right." He leaned against the jukebox and nodded, recalling the large volume of stories that contained the tales of all the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest—including him. "I forgot about that. So your grandpa and Belle…they knew each other before?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "You really need to read the book, Dad. It's all there. How they met and fell in love. Belle became the maid of the Dark Castle and chipped Rumplestiltskin's teacup. Grandpa saved Belle's kingdom from the ogres and she saved him from himself."

 _She saved him from himself._

"How'd you get so smart, Henry?"

Henry sighed with the longsuffering patience of someone far beyond his years. "I already told you. The book."

His son scanned the choices in the jukebox, trailing a small finger over the glass as he made his choice and scampered back to the table to rejoin Belle and Pop. The first chords of "Happy Together" by the Turtles filled the diner as Neal smiled after his son.

xoxo

Neal jiggled the handle on the front door of the pawnshop, surprised but glad to find it still unlocked. He'd forgotten his scarf and the night was too cold to do without. The front of the shop was dark and quiet, but there was a soft, lumpy shadow on top of a display case. He grabbed the scarf and turned to leave, but a sound from the back made him pause. Hushed voices floated from the direction of the workroom. He crept across the floor, pulled back the edge of the curtain, and peeked into the inner sanctum. Belle and his father were embracing, his father's lips pressed against the delicate slope of her shoulder. It was an intimate moment and he almost dropped the curtain and turned away, but Belle turned in his father's arms with a groan of complaint.

"Well that was a total disaster. I can't believe I played footsie with Neal. Gods, that was embarrassing." She dropped her head to Pop's chest. "I was just so nervous. Then I made everything worse. I'm used to sitting across from you…" she trailed off and groaned again. "Between what I did tonight and everything with Lacey, he thinks I'm a harlot who's not good enough for his father."

"Nonsense. If anyone is unworthy in our relationship it's me." Neal watched as Papa cupped Belle's cheeks, stroking her jaw with his thumbs. "I don't deserve you, sweetheart."

She captured his hand and rubbed his fingers across her lips. "I love you, Rumple. And love isn't about deserving. It's about choosing to see the best in each other every day."

"No one knows more about finding goodness in people than you, Belle." He feathered a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist and she beamed, then wrapped her arms around his neck and planted one on him.

 _Whoa, Papa has moves._ There was another surprise. Or maybe it was The Belle Effect, as he'd privately taken to calling it. Around Belle French, everything his father did seemed good and right. Papa was still powerful, yes, but with Belle he wore that power more lightly, so unlike the dangerously impulsive man Neal remembered who first became the Dark One.

"So you don't think Neal hates me?" she asked. "I really wanted him to like me. Next to yours, his opinion is the one that matters most. He's your son and like I told you earlier, I refuse to come between you."

"I think Bae prefers you to me, to tell you the truth." His father's eyes were bright with mirth as he said, "He was definitely impressed with your French fry eating capabilities."

Belle giggled and swatted Pop's shoulder. "You're his papa and he loves you. Although, you are the best kept secret in town."

Neal smiled into the darkness as they teased and comforted one another.

So many things he hadn't understood suddenly became clear. In the span of one day, Belle had shown him that forgiveness wasn't only possible, it was freeing. He'd hated the way the Dark One had twisted and hardened his father, but thanks to Belle's love and patience, the monster had been tamed. True love _could_ change someone for the better, and his father was living proof.

As he smoothed the curtain back into place and turned to leave, his flesh pebbled as he thought about the possibilities he had with his own family. Maybe he just needed to open his heart and choose to see the best in everyone, the way Belle did with Papa. Maybe that was enough—to let love in. At the very least it unfurled an emotion he hadn't felt in years –hope. Hope for his father, hope for Emma, hope for Henry.

Neal left the pawnshop, slipping out into the cold night air. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the inn, the sweet echo of Belle and Papa's laughter in his ears and the lively tune of "So Happy Together" on his lips.

 _The End_


End file.
